Playing Ball

by Kerry Freeman

  “What the hell?” Caleb flailed a hand back to grab Toby’s, but Toby just let him have it with the other hand. He kept up a rain of smacks, none of them particularly hard, just playful. He broke into full-out laughter as Caleb twisted and jerked above him.

  When they finally came back to rest, Caleb had his hands wrapped around Toby’s wrists, pinning them to the mattress on either side of his body, and his legs pressed against either side of Toby’s, holding them in place. Toby still shook with laughter, and Caleb was grinning like a loon, but when Caleb narrowed his eyes and said, “You’re gonna get it for that,” Toby had all of a second to brace himself before Caleb’s mouth descended onto Toby’s right nipple.

  Toby lost track of time while Caleb tortured him, sucking and nipping and licking at his nipples until both were red and throbbing, then biting his way down Toby’s abdomen to tug at Toby’s pubic hair with his teeth. Each little zing of sensation sent Toby’s arousal higher, and he writhed under Caleb’s assault, as much as he could with Caleb holding him down. And that? Only made it all hotter.

  When Caleb finally responded to the pleas that poured from Toby’s mouth and wrapped his lips around the tip of Toby’s cock, it took every ounce of willpower in Toby’s body not to come on the spot. He strained against Caleb’s grip on his wrists, but he didn’t really fight to free himself, or ask Caleb to let go. He liked it. Not in a way that meant he wanted to do it all the time, but right now, with Caleb holding him while he sucked his brains out through his dick, it was perfect.

  And then Caleb’s mouth and hands disappeared, and Toby actually heard himself whimper.

  He pried his eyes open, not even sure when he’d closed them, and what he saw when his eyes focused had him scrabbling for self-control again. Caleb had leaned back on his heels, and both hands were working as he rolled a condom down his own cock. When he finished, he looked up, and Toby caught his heated gaze.

  “Roll over,” Caleb rasped, and Toby didn’t hesitate to comply.

  Once he hit hands and knees, Caleb gave him a cursory few strokes with slicked fingers to lube him up before setting his cock against Toby’s hole and pushing inside. Toby pushed back, letting his head hang loose as he concentrated on relaxing everything so he could get Caleb all the way inside him as soon as possible. It burned like hell, but he didn’t care. He knew how good it would feel in a few minutes.

  Caleb’s hips soon rested fully against Toby’s ass, and Caleb paused there while Toby breathed through the residual pain. It didn’t last long, and soon Toby rocked his hips back, letting Caleb know without words he could move.

  And move he did. Caleb drew back and then slammed home. A surprised yell burst out of Toby as he scrabbled with his hands to brace himself more firmly, and Caleb didn’t let up, fucking Toby fast and hard, like he’d been holding back the tide and the dam had finally burst. Maybe it had, their phone conversations over the past week and a half building up between them until something had to give. Apparently it was Caleb’s control.

  Not that Toby had any complaints, except that this was going to be over a lot faster than he would have liked. He couldn’t spare a hand to jerk himself off, but that might not even matter, at the rate Caleb was going. And even if Caleb came first, it wouldn’t take more than a few strokes for him to follow.

  Caleb shifted his hips then, and Toby lost his train of thought as the new angle hit just the right spot deep inside. Oh hell, maybe he wouldn’t need a hand at all. He threw his head back on a moan, arching his back, feeling Caleb dig his fingers into his hips. One corner of the sheet popped off the bed, dragged loose by Toby’s grasping hands, and just when he thought he couldn’t take it another second, Caleb moved again, reaching around to grab Toby’s desperate cock.

  Three more seconds stretched into forever and then Toby was finally there, making an incoherent sound as his body seized in pleasure. He jerked and shot over Caleb’s hand and onto the mattress, and before he’d finished, Caleb slammed deep into him and groaned out his own release.

  Panting as if they’d run a marathon, they slumped sideways onto the mattress in a tangle of sweaty limbs. Toby throbbed pleasantly from head to toe, and while he had a fleeting thought of getting cleaned up, his brain decided it liked the idea of sleep better.

  HALFWAY through the next day—after three more rounds of sex, breakfast in bed consisting of Pop-Tarts and coffee, and a thrown-together lunch of whatever leftovers in Toby’s fridge weren’t too old for consumption—Toby decided he kind of liked this sleepover thing. He’d rarely spent an overnight with the few men he’d been with before Caleb, and even then, one of them always ended up doing the Walk of Shame the next morning. The actual sleeping part of sleeping with Caleb wasn’t so easy, other than a couple of postcoital naps. He kept waking himself up just as he started to doze, afraid he’d snore or drool or do something embarrassing that would scare off his bedmate.

  Caleb didn’t seem inclined to go anywhere, though. After they’d cleaned up from their lunch, Caleb had trailed him over to the sofa and then settled in close while Toby turned on the MLB Network to find out who was playing that afternoon. With the Orioles and Rays in a pitcher’s duel at Camden Yards for background noise, they talked.

  “Believe it or not, the main thing I remember about my dad isn’t him taking me to baseball games.” Toby slid his hand along Caleb’s forearm where it had ended up lying across his hips. “It’s not baseball at all. It’s sitting on the front porch on the swing and watching him shuck corn. Helping when I got a little older, though it probably took him a lot longer with me ‘helping.’ Corn on the cob was his favorite thing in the whole world, and he’d buy it by the bushel in high season and freeze it so he’d have it all year-round.”

  Caleb laughed. “There’s a lot of corn in Indiana,” he said, voice wry. “We ate it almost every meal in the summer. I boycotted once. Preteen rebellion. I loved the stuff, still do, but for some hormonal reason I thought, ‘I’ll show them.’ Cut off my nose to spite my face, but Mom never flinched. Never even mentioned it. I lasted about a week.”

  Toby shifted closer to Caleb’s long, warm body. “Guess I skipped the rebellious stage. Unless this counts.” He ran a hand down Caleb’s stomach to brush over his crotch, and Caleb gave a soft moan.

  “Better late than never,” he murmured, bringing his own hand over to press on top of Toby’s. Toby felt the flesh under his palm firm and grow, and his own body responded in kind. He shifted again, pulling himself up to lie half on top of Caleb so he could look down into the other man’s deep-blue eyes.

  “Viva la revolución,” he said just before he kissed Caleb’s full lips.

  ANOTHER freakin’ weird start time.

  Toby grimaced as he pulled himself out of his car much too early on Saturday afternoon and headed toward the clubhouse. He couldn’t believe they’d gotten hit with two late-afternoon games two weeks apart. The gods of baseball broadcasting must hate him.

  At least he knew Caleb would be on time. Toby’d stood over him while he programmed a reminder into his phone before Toby left that morning. Toby had rewarded him with a deep, lingering kiss and then headed home to shower and change. He would’ve taken a bag with him to Caleb’s, but even after they’d spent almost two days together at Toby’s place—most of them in bed—he hadn’t thought when he went to the ballpark the evening before that a few hours later he’d be laid out on Caleb’s bed, getting fucked to within an inch of his sanity.

  Toby forced his mind away from that train of thought, which led to nowhere he needed or wanted to go in public. He focused on his pregame prep, which went smoothly, and sure enough, Caleb showed up on time, pausing just long enough to shoot Toby a heated glance and a big smile before heading to his locker to dress for the game. Even the stragglers arrived with enough time to hurry into their uniforms before batting practice, and game time came and went with no major glitches. Toby breathed a little easier then.

  By the third inning, shadows were creeping across the fie
ld, and Toby knew the batters would have a hell of a time for the next hour, until the sun fell completely behind the stands. Twilight games weren’t just a bitch for the off-the-field staff to deal with. They didn’t have to try to track a 95-mile-per-hour fastball from the bright sunlight streaming on the pitcher’s mound to the darkness enveloping the plate. As if those pitches weren’t hard enough to follow under perfect conditions.

  Toby didn’t see the play when it happened. The Braves were leading after four and a half innings, and even in the typical July heat, the contrast between sun and shade was enough that the starting pitcher asked for his jacket to keep his arm warm while the Braves were at bat. Toby jogged down to the clubhouse to get it and was on his way back up the ramp to the dugout when he heard the crack, followed instantly by a collective gasp from the crowd.

  He ran the last few steps until he could see the field, and then it took him a few minutes to figure out who was lying on the ground next to home plate, his helmet spinning slowly in the dirt a few feet away.

  Holy shit.

  It was Caleb.

  Toby had to grab hold of the railing next to him to keep from following the manager and trainers, who’d sprinted out onto the field. Caleb wasn’t moving, and that, combined with the sickening sound of what Toby now knew was ball hitting skull that still echoed in his head, did not bode well. The last time Toby had seen a player down this long, he’d never stepped foot on a baseball field again.

  Toby watched, leg bouncing impatiently, as Marty and Joe, the head trainer, checked Caleb over. Somebody took the jacket Toby still held, but he barely noticed. At one point, Marty shifted enough that Toby could see Caleb’s mouth moving, so at least he was conscious, which gave Toby a few seconds of relief. Unfortunately, the next thing he saw was blood, and that sent him right back over the edge into sheer terror.

  At almost the same moment, the home plate umpire and Lou, the manager, motioned toward the outfield. Toby’s heart sank further. They were calling in the cart to take Caleb off the field, which meant his injury was bad enough, or risky enough, that either he couldn’t walk off under his own power or the trainers wouldn’t let him. Toby heard the murmurs from the crowd and the low chatter of the players around him, but it was only so much white noise. His mind was racing, trying to figure out if he could follow Caleb to the hospital or if he’d need to hang around until after the game before heading over.

  The next second, he discarded the question. If Caleb was going to the hospital, then Toby was going too, and damn the consequences.

  Mind made up, Toby took the last few steps to the field and jogged over to home plate, trying to make his choice look casual. “Hey, guys, need a hand?”

  Marty glanced up at him. “Yeah, great, Toby. Can you steady his legs while we get him on the backboard? We don’t think his neck is injured, but we gotta take precautions.”

  “Sure.” Toby moved down to grip Caleb’s ankles, happy to be able to touch him somewhere, at least. Joe held Caleb’s head still while Marty and the two medics that came in with the cart rolled him to one side and slid the backboard in place. Toby didn’t move until Marty had the straps buckled across Caleb’s body, and then he moved down to grip the bottom of the board instead, helping lift it up and onto the back of the cart.

  Toby stepped away then, but just long enough to catch Marty’s eye. “I’m going with him.”

  Marty grunted as he tightened down a strap. “I know you guys are friends, Tobes, but….”

  “I’m going. No buts. If there’s no room for me in the ambulance, I’ll drive.”

  Marty looked at Toby again and then nodded. “Okay. I’m riding with him. Joe’s gotta stay with the team. You can meet us at the ER. It’ll help having someone else there.”

  Toby nodded and turned away without another word, heading straight for the dugout and down the ramp to the clubhouse. He darted inside just long enough to grab his phone and keys from the lockbox near the door, and then he was on his way to his car.

  THE hospital was too damn far from the ballpark. Toby felt like he’d been driving for hours by the time he finally turned off Peachtree and into the parking lot. He found an empty space and jumped out of his car, hitting the key fob to lock it behind him as he took off at jog toward the emergency room’s walk-in entrance. He’d been to the hospital only a handful of times, but he knew where to go to find Caleb.

  Inside, he ignored the check-in desk and looked around until he saw Marty standing off to one side. He hurried over. “How is he?”

  “Still awake.” Marty nodded toward the curtain a few feet away. “Not entirely coherent, and his eye looks like he got hit with an anvil. But he was talking on the ride in, and I don’t think he passed out. They’re checking him over, and he’ll be going to X-ray soon.”

  Toby bounced on his toes, overflowing with nervous energy. “When can I see him?”

  Marty gave him a long look. “They’ll probably let us in when he gets back from X-ray. Don’t know how long it’ll take for them to get him into a room.” Marty paused. “You seem awfully anxious about all this. He’s only been here a couple of weeks. When did you find time to get to be such good friends?”

  Toby nodded, gaze glued on the curtain hiding Caleb from him, hoping for a glance. “We, um, yeah.” He caught himself and shot Marty what hoped was a casual smile. “We had dinner the night he got here and again the other night. We’ve talked some. Nice guy.”

  Marty didn’t say anything else, though Toby could tell he wanted to. Marty knew Toby better than anyone else involved with the team, his grandfather included, but even he didn’t know Toby’s biggest secret. Toby had almost blurted it out more than once, but now he was glad he hadn’t. Not for his own sake, but because if Marty knew Toby was gay, he’d be more likely to draw conclusions about Caleb, and the last thing Toby would want to do would be out Caleb to anyone. That had to be Caleb’s choice.

  Before either of them said anything else, the curtain moved and a nurse stepped out. She gave Marty a nod and a quick smile.

  “Hey, Carla,” Marty said. One side effect of being a trainer for a Major League Baseball team was being on a first-name basis with a lot of medical staff. “How’s our boy?”

  “Stable,” she replied. “They’re prepping him to move to X-ray now. Looks like a broken cheekbone, but the nosebleed stopped, and his eyes are responding well, so we’re hopeful that’s all we’re dealing with.”

  Marty nodded. “Any idea how long they’ll keep him?”

  “Probably a couple of days, if he doesn’t need surgery.” Carla glanced at Toby but turned her attention back to Marty. “They’ll want to keep an eye on the swelling and make sure there’s nothing else. He’ll probably get a room in an hour or two. We’ve got some empty beds today.”

  “Sounds good.” Marty turned to Toby as Carla walked away. “You hungry?” Surprised by the question, Toby shook his head. “Well, I am,” Marty said. “Missing the postgame feast. Let’s hit the cafeteria before it shuts down.”

  Toby opened his mouth to argue that they should wait there, but Marty had already headed down the hall, so Toby jogged to catch up. “Marty, I really think I should—”

  “—get something to eat while you can. We don’t know how long we’ll be here, and trust me, you don’t want to be stuck with nothing but vending machines when you’re starving in the middle of the night.” He glanced at Toby. “Eat now. Worry later.”

  “Yeah, right,” Toby muttered. As if he’d stop worrying. But he shut up and kept walking.

  Marty led him to the cafeteria, through the line, and to a table. Toby had no idea what they were ordering; he just followed Marty’s lead and ended up with meatloaf and mashed potatoes covered with brown gravy, a small pile of green beans, and a glass of sweet tea.

  “Dig in,” Marty instructed once they sat down, and Toby began eating on autopilot. Some part of his brain noted that the food was actually pretty good, for a hospital cafeteria, but most of his mind was still back in the
ER, focused on Caleb.

  Halfway through his meal, Toby stopped eating. He set down his fork. He looked at Marty, and he said the one thing he knew he shouldn’t: “I’m gay.”

  Marty stopped chewing for a few seconds and then started back up again. He swallowed, took a sip of his tea, swallowed again, and looked Toby straight in the eye.

  “I know.”

  Toby’s jaw dropped, but Marty wasn’t done. “I’ve known for years, Toby. All the time we’ve spent together? I’d have to be pretty clueless not to figure it out. And no, before you even ask, you don’t give off a vibe or ‘act gay,’ whatever that even means. I couldn’t even point to one thing that made me say, ‘oh, okay.’ It’s just…. I know you. Okay?”

  Toby sat back, stunned. He’d had no…. “I had no idea. You could have said something.”

  Marty snorted and forked up another bite of meatloaf. “Yeah, and if I happened to be wrong, you might’ve bit my head off about it. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

  He popped the bite into his mouth, and Toby watched him chew, his own jaw working from side to side as he considered what Marty had said. “And it doesn’t…. You don’t care?”

  Marty stopped chewing again, and then swallowed. “Well, yeah, I care.” He leaned forward, resting his forearms on the edge of the table. “I care that you’re happy, and that you’re not dating some asshole who beats you up or something. But whether that’s a guy or a girl or whatever?” He waved a hand dismissively. “I couldn’t give a rip about that.”

  Toby sighed and picked up his fork to poke at the remains of his mashed potatoes. “What if it was a ballplayer?”

  Marty stayed silent long enough that Toby looked up to find out what he was thinking. Marty’s brow was furrowed. “Is that why you’re here? Is it…?”